Secret Agent Man
by friend9810
Summary: Sark has seen a lot of crazy things in this world. He was not really ready to add werewolves to that list yet.


Ever since he began working for Arvin Sloane, Julian Sark found himself regretting his life choices more than usual. Considering that pre-Sloane Sark never regretted anything that was quite a big deal. If it wasn't for the fact that Sloane was always good for paying huge sums of money for some trinket then Sark would have stopped bothering with the man long ago. But he did pay a lot of money and so Sark had to put up with his obsessions with a 15th century prophet.

That is why he found himself standing in front of a high school in California. Sark had seen stranger, but when he first looked at the plans for the mission he found it hard to believe that someone would place their valuables underneath a school. Its odd location didn't really matter once he looked into how to access the vault. There was just five holes almost as if you needed claws to open them. He checked a dozen times and made sure he saw every inch of both entrances. The only thing he could think of was to blow it all to bits but that would risk too much attention and possibly damaging the item he came to collect.

The blond let out a groan of frustration. This was going to take a lot more work then he wanted to do. He had to do something he really loathed to do. He would have to get the information from one of the people that owned the vault. He looked into the history of the vault when Sloane first asked him to retrieve the Rambaldi artifact. It belonged to the Hale family. Most of the family died in a fire several years ago (Sark was very impressed by the arsonist's work) and there were only three survivors. Laura Hale who died several months ago, Peter Hale who was comatose for six years and then disappeared several months ago, and Derek Hale. It seemed that the latter Hale was his best option.

Sark arrived at the loft and knocked on the door. He had a plan. Persuade Derek to tell him how to open the vault by using some less than desirable methods. Secretly he hoped Derek would give in easy. He really didn't want to get blood on his new blue suit.

The door slid open, but much to Sark's disappointment it was not Derek. Instead it was a boy who looked to be sixteen or seventeen. He had short brown hair and amber-whiskey eyes "Uh hi?" The teen asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Derek must not get many visitors.

"I'm looking for Derek Hale. Is he here?" Sark asked putting on his best innocent face not that it was a hard thing to do. People always underestimated him because of his age. As if a blond haired, blue eyed, twenty-one year old could not be one of the most ruthless killers in the world.

"Weird. Derek has friends outside the pack?" The kid asked himself and Sark did find it slightly odd that he referred to his friends as pack. American teenagers, Sark would never understand them. The brown haired boy smiled and shook his head. "He's not here. Went out—"

"Stiles, who is it?" An older man asked as he walked up behind the boy who must be named Stiles. The man wore a white v-neck and a dark pair of jeans. He had striking blue eyes, as blue as his own, and seemed to look Sark over with distain.

It then hit Sark that this was Peter Hale. Maybe all hope wasn't lost.

"This is—"

"Oliver. I was just seeing if Derek was around."

"My nephew is out at the moment, but should be back soon. You can come in and wait if you'd like." Peter said with a pleasant tone that set off warning signs of for Sark. He had been made. He had no idea how but it seemed as though Peter easily saw through Sark's façade.

He has two options now. He could either leave and come back at a later time or go inside and see how things played out. Sark was always one for a little risky adventure. "That would be great, thanks."

Peter opened the door more and stepped aside to let Sark in the loft. As Sark stepped inside he took in his surroundings. Derek seemed to have liked the simple things in life. The loft was sparsely decorated and the furniture it did have was not up to Sark's standards of luxury, but who was he to judge. Out of the corner of his eye Sark noticed the look of confusion that Stiles gave Peter. It wasn't' until the teen shut the door to the loft that all hell broke loose.

Peter quickly grabbed Sark by the throat but not before the young blond had already gotten his gun out and pointed it at Stiles.

Even though Peter had a tight grip on his throat making it extremely hard to breathe Sark managed to say, "It appears we have a predicament."

"Indeed. Although, I could rip your throat out and then the problem would be solved." Peter said and although experience told Sark that the man is bluffing there was something about him that said that this man was being serious.

"Ah but then you're putting your boytoy in jeopardy." Sark wheezed out.

"I take offence to that. I am not his boytoy." Stiles said, being extremely calm for a teenager in a situation like this. This whole thing was bizarre for Sark.

"You so are." Peter said, tightening his grip on Sark's throat. "Are you a hunter?"

Sark was perplexed. A hunter? He killed people, not animals. Even if he did hunt why would that be cause for such a hostile reaction? He settled for a simple answer. "No."

"You're not lying, then why are you here?"

"Why don't you let go and we can talk."

They glared at each other. Blue eyes boing into blue. Sark decided that if he wasn't' let go in twenty seconds then he would shoot the kid. At least then he might be able to escape. It was a risk he was willing to take.

"Snookums, drop the pretty blond man so that I don't die." Stiles said in a sing-song voice as Sark was mentally counting to twenty. He got to thirteen when Peter let him go.

"I should just let him shoot you. Don't call me snookums again." Peter growled. Sark was trying to get back to normal breathing as he lowered his gun.

"Boytoy has you whipped."

"I am not."

"More whipped than Cool Whip." Sark said in all seriousness. He was tired and just done with the whole situation. He lost his ability to care long ago. Peter looked even more like he was on the verge of killing him as Stiles was wholeheartedly laughing.

"You wanted to talk so talk." Peter said.

Sark brushed off invisible dust off his suit and then straighten the jacket out to make his appearance look neat once again. It gave him a few seconds to think about what he was going to say before he decided that the truth was the best option and that there was no harm in telling it. "My employer wanted me to get an artifact from your family's vault. I discovered that it is damn near impossible break in and thought I might be able to persuade your nephew into letting me in."

"What artifact were you planning on stealing?" Peter asked.

"This tea pot." Sark said as he pulled out his phone and showed the other man a picture of it. It was a very old light blue tea pot that had faint gold etchings.

"Seriously? All this for a tea pot? You are so British." Stiles commented, peering over at the picture as well.

"This tea pot is said to belong to Milo Rambaldi, a 15th century prophet, one whom my employer has a fixation with." Sark said in a slightly bitter tone. The day he never has to hear about Milo bloody Rambaldi is the day that he is going to rejoice. If it were up to him he would have everything associated with that man burned. Sark looked at the teenage boy and added, "He is paying me two million dollars for this so yeah, all this trouble for a tea pot."

"I want to get into your line of work." The boy muttered as he walked away from the phone and went to sit on the nearby couch.

"Stiles, you would last maybe two days before you're moral high ground would get in the way." Peter rolled his eyes at the boy. He then gave one more look at the picture of the tea pot and then a glance back at Sark. "All you want is the tea pot?"

Sark shrugged, "There's a lot more I want in life, but yes the tea pot would suffice for now. Honestly at this point I'm just doing this to satisfy my own curiosity as to how the vault opens." He was really expecting the eldest Hale to try to kill him again, fail, and then they could both go their separate ways. The tea pot was probably not an incredibly valuable piece to the man, but Sark guessed that he didn't take kindly to people trying to steal from him. Most people wouldn't.

After a moment of silence passed Peter spoke again, "I want half of your earnings from this job. A million dollars."

"Seriously, Peter? It's a tea pot." The boy, Stiles, said.

Peter looked over at where the boy was sitting and gave him smug look, a single eyebrow raised. "I do nothing unless it benefits me. A million dollars should do nicely." Ah, a man after Sark's own heart.

"Very well. We have a deal."

For the second time that day Sark found himself back at the high school, but this time he had Peter and Stiles with him. It was approaching nighttime and Sark really wished they would get a move on things for he wanted this to be over with hours ago. However, he was pleased that his curiosity would satisfied a little.

"One other question has been pestering me. Why did your family hid their valuables under a high school?" Sark asked as they approached the entrance to the vault.

"No one would ever suspect it. It's so odd that no one would ever consider that a vault would be under a school." Peter answered lightly and Sark had to admit he had a point. When he first went over the specs for the mission he had some difficultly in believing it.

"Except when you got 117 million dollars stolen from you and now this guy." Stiles chimed in. Peter did not look amused.

"You had a 117 million under here?" Sark asked in slight disbelief. Tea pots and other valuable artifacts he could understand, but money? That is just asking for trouble.

"Yeah, instead of taking to a bank or investing it like Derek did. Peter just decided to buy more v-necks." Amusement was thick in Stiles' voice and Sark couldn't decide whether or not he liked the kid or wanted to kill him painfully. He was leaning towards the latter option.

Instead Sark said, "That's nothing. I was given a half of billion dollars only to have it taken away from me two minutes later by the worst organization I ever worked for. A half of billion dollars. " He would be forever bitter about losing that money to the Covenant. He would have maybe accepted it if they appeared to know what they were doing, but instead they ordered Sark around and he knew he could do a hundred times better.

But the past was in the past and now he was focused on the vault in front of him.

Peter stood near it and casually let claws come out of hands and stuck them in the five slots. Sark almost thought he was seeing things. It was then that Peter turned to look at him, a smirk placed firmly on his face, and had fluorescent blue eyes.

"Oh what the fuck." Sark said. He hardly ever swore but now seemed like the perfect time to start swearing like a sailor. What the fuck is his life?

He looked over at Stiles to see if the boy was as unsettled as Sark, but if anything the boy looked like he wanted to laugh. "Werewolf." The teen said.

Now it made sense as to why the teen referred to his friends as pack and why Peter thought he was a hunter. A very surreal day when the existence of werewolves starts to make sense to him. "Of course. Why the bloody hell not?" He said in a resigned manner. Then gave the boy a questioning look. "Are you a werewolf too?

"No, but I got to say you're taking this better than most people." Stiles said.

Sark chose to ignore him for now. He wasn't the interesting one, or at least he was not the incredibly fascinating one. He asked Peter, "So if I shot you, would you die?"

Peter seemed to be contemplating before he answered. Calculating what he would say and how much information to give out. Sark was really liking him. "Not with regular bullets. It would just hurt for a while. "

Sark nodded. "So back at the loft when you grabbed me, if I pointed my gun at you I would most likely be dead. It was only because I pointed it at the boytoy who doesn't have claws."

"You were lucky. If I didn't care about Stiles I would have ripped your throat out with my teeth." Peter said with grin that unnerved Sark more than he would like to admit.

It was then that the vault opened and he was led down the stairs by Peter. It was not as big as Sark expected, but there seemed to be many items. He looked it all over as Peter went straight over to a corner, apparently knowing exactly where the tea pot was kept. Seconds later he had the artifact in hand.

"Here you go." Peter handed the tea pot to Sark who gave it a look of distain. All this trouble for something so trivial.

"I'll have the money wired to you as soon as possible. Hopefully you keep it better secure than your other millions." Sark said with a small smirk. Werewolf or not, no one was excluded from some of his snark.

Peter's eyes flashed blue and he flashed a smile, Sark could have sworn he saw fangs. "I expect it."

Sark gave a curt nod and promptly left with the tea pot in hand. Not that he would ever show or admit it, but he never felt so unsure of himself in his whole life. He was going to need a drink after this and possibly make Sloane give him a raise.


End file.
